


Henry VIII’s Husbands

by moderncorg



Category: Catholicism - Fandom, Historical RPF, Religious RPF, The Tudors (TV)
Genre: 16th Century CE, Adultery, Amicable Grant, Annulment, Catholicism, Divorce, Henry VIII - Freeform, Historic, Historical Reenactment, History, Homophobia, Homosexuality, Jealousy, M/M, Multi, Protestantism, Reforms, Religion, Tudor, Tudor Era, Verbal Abuse, church
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-18 18:26:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13105974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moderncorg/pseuds/moderncorg





	1. Prologue

Thomas and Henry, the perfect couple, or as it used to be referred to. The king and the king's chief minister. 'Thomas Wolsey, Chief Minister, cardinal, the royal almoner and Papal Legate and most importantly, the king’s lady in waiting,’ Thomas Wolsey would write on his letters, he’d quickly erase all evidence when he'd bring himself to the realisation of what he'd manufactured; an arrogant approval of his countless achievements and obsequious behaviour towards the monarch. Wolsey smiled at the thought of that, obtaining a worthy title to his previously impoverished name. Wolsey, a name of little worth and low birth, a name without legacy and a name without pride. His name was given purpose, significance in the world he'd viewed as unequal and saturated in the most unholiest of excrements.

Wolsey was an intelligent man, he'd acquired a degree from Oxford University and became a priest following his graduation, fulfilling his father's wishes as commanded. After he’d become a rather reputable figure in the church and the religious community at home and abroad, Wolsey gained attention from Henry Tudor VIII, the king of England. The renaissance prince who would coax women into his very arms and lure them into the soft incarceration of his lips. Henry Tudor soon became fond of Thomas Wolsey, Wolsey wasn't the most attractive man, Henry admitted, but Wolsey had gifts other than the external appeal he had craved from his numerous mistresses. "The economy, the religion, the laws!" Henry would exclaim to Wolsey in his courtly affairs. Henry wanted Wolsey to gain an active role in all affairs regarding the crown's power over the population of England. While Henry was abroad fighting fatuous battles predicated on the basis of acquiring fame to be written in historic documentations, Wolsey had become a house wife, beaten to the brim with economic policy that would tire him relentlessly. Wolsey spent hours dealing with the mess of a country Henry had left behind. Wolsey would oppose the potentially fatal agendas of Henry, such as his need to gain a divorce from Catherine of Aragon, but would refrain from surfacing most of his concerns, in fear of judgement and the jeopardised position of his role as a cardinal and papal legate. Though Henry was a rather cantankerous figure, he’d always found a way to resolve the issues brewing within Wolsey. Whenever Wolsey would become slightly concerned about the economic policy and stability of the throne, Henry would unravel his silk garment and behold his slender beauty before Wolsey. 

The year was 1515, a noteworthy year for Thomas. A year in which he'd become Lord Chancellor, Henry's chief minister and a cardinal. Thomas wasn't a member of the nobility, he was of low birth, but he had the gift of intelligence and ambition to achieve greatness. His lord, God, inspired him. God was his light and when Thomas' life became dim with solemn hopelessness, God would prevail the lightness and lead Thomas to his prosperous lands. One man, such power over the king and the church, he was irreplaceable. But as all love stories end, there is a tragedy to Thomas' pride and glory and that tragedy goes by the name of Thomas Cromwell. Thomas Cromwell would bring Wolsey to his demise, a tragic end for a powerful man and reputable cardinal. It was him who'd prevailed his capabilities over the inferiority of Thomas Wolsey's.

The cyclical routine of the occupations in the relationship weren't always as swift as one would view it. The notorious Thomas Cromwell would dismantle the relationship, church by church and reform by reform. 

However, there is a side to this story- the story of Thomas Wolsey's demise that history has failed to address. The infamous Thomas Cromwell and his deceitful speculations against Thomas Wolsey. 

Thomas Cromwell was different to Thomas Wolsey, and the rest of parliament. Thomas Cromwell had the external and internal appeal fit for the rightful king of England. The alleged innocence of the prolific lawyer was enough to degrade Wolsey’s cardinal status in the church and law, Cromwell’s immense experience with his courtly affairs were enough to lure any monarch into hiring Cromwell over Wolsey.


	2. Don’t Remind Wolsey

"How do I look?" Henry asked Wolsey, stretching the collars of his large garment emblazoned with the countless jewels and diamonds stitched upon its fine red tapestry. Wolsey didn't know how to respond to that question, it was one that he'd failed to gain the answer to, despite his vast intelligence protruding. Henry, instead, turned towards Thomas Cromwell, who smiled gleefully at Henry's red garment covering the broad shoulders. "Henry, you look better than King Francis I of France!" Cromwell laughed and Henry joined him. It was quite apparent that Cromwell was adapting his skills of 'king's bidding' his complicit skill in which he'd comply relentlessly with the demands and preferences of Henry Tudor for his own Machiavellian agenda. Wolsey lowered his head and sat on his desk, preparing his supple wax for the wax seal of his letter.   
"Wolsey! Isn't Cromwell funny!" Henry laughed, slapping his knee and leaning on Cromwell's shoulder with his forearm. Wolsey removed his wax stamp from his clasp, lifting his head, "Yes, your majesty. There has been word spreading regarding the physical appeal of King Francis I. Your physical worth dominates over Francis." Wolsey says with solemn expression. 

Henry and Cromwell looked at each other, both confused at Wolsey's apparent state of discontentment. Henry places his hand onto Cromwell's shoulder, sinking his hand lower and lower, touching the beginning of his back quarters. Henry clears his throat, removing his hand from Cromwell's behind meeting his eye and says, "You're dismissed, Cromwell. I shall see thee anon.” Cromwell nods his head and proceeds to exit the room, his black gown dragging itself against the serrated floor, he then closed the solid oak door behind him. Henry watches Cromwells toned legs escort themselves out of the room, he turns his upper torso to face Wolsey, he presses his lips together, curling one side of his mouth in a partial judging smile. "You know, you didn't need to do that, Wolsey." Henry muttered through his clenched teeth. "Cromwell is nice man. Anyway..." Henry sighed, sitting on his chair, "How are the annulment arrangements?" He asked Wolsey, tilting his head to the side, condescendingly and widely his eyes.   
"Henry, I've told you before I-"  
"That statement is as accurate as my excrement." Henry slammed his fist onto the table, startling Wolsey, causing his hand to release his wax stamp onto the floor. "What must I do to increase the speed of this transaction? What do you need? Money? Support?"  
"Henry, please." Wolsey interjected. He stood from his chair.   
"No, Wolsey. What do you need?" Henry belted, kicking Wolsey's wax stamp across the room. "I see you haven't been as successful as you have been previously. I mean the amicable grant-" Henry laughed to himself, raising his chin. "Failure, Wolsey. That fucking Amicable Grant was a failure! What the fuck do you think you were doing getting more tax from the priests? And the deadline. Oh god that fucking deadline. Ten days to pay the tax, Wolsey? Ten days! Thou art behind the hour as well!" Wolsey was late to his day of work, but for just reason, his wax was in short supply so he'd bought a surplus amount from his local wax manufacturer.   
"Henry, must I-"  
"You will address me formally. I am your majesty, to you." Henry runs his forefinger through the centre parting of his hair and sighs, "How many times must I tell you? No annulment means no colloquial terminology exchanged between each other! So, what sayest thou? How about you get that annulment and we'll all be content with our lives.” Henry scolds at Wolsey, shaking his head and departing Wolsey's work area. Wolsey lowers his head again. Henry stops by the large door reaching the stone ceiling, he raised his hand as if to silence the already silent Wolsey. “I forgot to say, there’s a dinner at Cromwell’s tomorrow. It’s compulsory, wear your finest- cardinal clothes I guess.” Henry looks upon Wolsey’s dishevelled red robes. Scanning Wolsey’s attire with his piercing eyes and straightened mouth. “You’ll Be required to feast with us, as any chief minister would with his king.” Henry glances at Wolsey, he turns his head and shoulders towards the door and leaves. 

It was true now, certified and imprinted on the metaphorical wax stamp. Henry was losing his faith in Thomas Wolsey, and Wolsey was losing his influence over the crown's decisions.


	3. Firm Butt Grab

"Cardinal Wolsey, 'tis midday and the king orders you to join him upon his saddle."   
Wolsey cradles the covers surrounding his body and grips them tight towards his naked chest. Wolsey raises his hand in-front of his eyes to restrict the entrance of the protruding natural lighting seeping through the transparency of the stained glass windows.   
"How may I be of service to thee?"  
"Cardinal Wolsey, the king expects you to join him by his saddle at this very moment." The servant says, holding in his hand a candle stick, its light reflecting upon his prominent features.  
"My garb be soiled, allow me to change my garment." Wolsey started to pull his cardinal attire over his head, but stopped at the intersection of the servant.   
" _No_ , Cardinal. The king expects you now." The servant stepped aside the doorway, extending his arm out of their door, "Please, Cardinal, follow me."   
Wolsey rose from his slumber and placed his slippers onto his emaciated feet, "Wouldst thou grant me thy favour?" Wolsey asked the servant.   
"Of course." The servant nodded in compliance. Wolsey stepped towards the servant, gently taking hold of his coarse hands and compressing them slightly, "Tell the king I am slightly parched and in dire need of liquid beverages." Wolsey smiled, gripping tighter.   
"Cardinal, the king requests that you-"  
"I am the papal legate of England, I have more power than your entire bloodline combined. Do not trouble me, sir, for I could and will bring an end to your family's legacy." Wolsey squeezes harder, sinking into the flesh of the servant.   
"Please, Cardinal you're hurting me!" The servant pleas, Wolsey rests his grip and sinks his arms to his sides.   
"Then do not challenge me to a quarrel, swine. I may have a close connection to the Lord but I am willing to commit a few sins and fuck your family's legacy- homosexual style." Wolsey hissed at the servant, he soon came to realise that he'd overreacted slightly, "Sorry about that, what's your name?"  
"Thomas." He said. Wolsey smiled to himself dragging his slipper across the floor.   
"Well I haven't heard _that_ name before!" He laughed, and the other Thomas joined in. It was certain that possibly half of Tudor England's male population was comprised of the name; Thomas, an unoriginal name that parents deem suitable to label their offspring. The other Thomas settled his laughter, to Wolsey, it had seemed as though the other Thomas was being slightly disingenuous, but he’d no requirement to address that issue at the moment. “Anyway, Thomas, I’m going to get dressed now so tell the king I am replenishing myself.” Wolsey said to Thomas, gently caressing Thomas’ shoulder with his soft touch. Thomas nodded and left the room, allowing Wolsey to gain a sense of dignity.

Wolsey slid his cardinal robes down his shoulders, he kicked off the slippers he bore and brushed aside his centre parting with his cow tongue comb. On his dormitory’s chair lay a red cardinal robe, one similar to the garment he’d just removed. Wolsey’s wardrobe was self-explanatory; red robe for a mundane cardinal, he was a man of little fashion sense- not by his own will. Wolsey yearned for a fashionable pair of goat skin shoes or a purple laced overcoat to top his cardinal robes, but materialistic items were prohibited.

Wolsey had no reflective surface in his room to examine his attire and appearance, he’d resented narcissism. “Let’s hope that I overpower Cromwell’s immense efforts of gaining sexual approval from my husband,” Wolsey coughs, “-I mean, my king!” He corrected himself. The one way conversation between himself and God was short and unresponsive for Wolsey, but that was expected. Wolsey imitates the cross on his head and shoulders, placing his hand on his forehead, chest, left shoulder and then his right. “Forgive me, my lord. I am not one of those indecent priests or monks. I refrain from participating in such vices.”

“Wolsey!” Called the coarse voice from the hallway outside of Wolsey’s dormitory. Henry.

Wolsey pushed his dishevelled robes underneath his bed, which wasn’t to a noble standard. “Yes, your majesty?” Wolsey said confidently, straightening his robe. Henry walks in, his eyes evaluating the scene, “Come on, Wolsey. The mares are waiting for us.” Henry took ahold of Wolsey’s behind and squeezed firmly. “If you make me happy you’ll get more of this later, Wolsey.” Henry removed his hand from Wolsey’s behind, then collided it with Wolsey’s behind again. A sharp pain rose within Wolsey’s buttocks and soon it dissipated into a distributed tingling sensation around his lower torso region and thighs. “Now let’s go to Cromwell’s.” Henry said, giving Wolsey’s buttocks another firm clasp.


	4. Outside Hampton Court Palace

The last of the horses arrived, Wolsey and Henry were one of the first to arrive, the king's divine right overpowered that of the knights. The knights and mares circled Hampton Court Palace, a palace Henry had generously given to Cromwell.   
"Henry! Good morrow to thee!" From the palace doors came a figure in black, Cromwell bearing an oil lamp in his raised hand, a hand clenched in advance of their gathering. Cromwell came closer, his face becoming more distinct with every step. Henry removed his hand from Wolsey's backside and raised it forwards towards Cromwell, "Thomas! I have missed you dearly!" Henry cheered, launching himself into the open arms of Cromwell. Cromwell embraces Henry, he covers Henry in the fine black silk of his overcoat, shielding Henry's body from the knights and noblemen. Henry nuzzles his head into Cromwell's shoulder and Cromwell nuzzles back.   
In the distance, Wolsey stands by his mare, his arms folded in front of his chest. "Fucking Cromwell." He whispered to Mary, his mare. Mary neighed in response. As Mary was just a mare, a neigh was all Wolsey expected, disappointing but not surprisingly.  
"Thomas Wolsey!" Cromwell cries, releasing his firm grip from Henry's backside. He walks towards Wolsey and rests his arms beside his waist, "You have no idea how enlightened I am to see you here. At Hampton Court!" Cromwell advances towards Wolsey, throwing his arm around Wolsey's neck, Henry watches on, smiling from three metres away. Wolsey uncomfortably shuffles away from Cromwell, his understandable dread arising as a man he resented was wrapping his flesh with his. "Come on, Wolsey. We're friends here." Cromwell bites his lip, allowing his bottom lip to fall back into his resting position. Wolsey remains silent, eyeing Henry with his stern eyes. "Help me." He mouthes, his eyes widening, those blue eyes that retained the world's many oceans, those oceans Wolsey had heard of from Henry's many stories of his crusades and how he would define harlots in the town centres in France and Spain. Cromwell removed himself from Wolsey's chest and nuzzled his chin against Wolsey's meagre shoulder.   
"Come now, my Thomas'" Henry called. "Let us enter Cromwell's palace to dine."


End file.
